Important Author note: I've decided to keep this story. I would just like more concrit on how to make it better. I'll try to update soon.

Regarding the sudden variance in altitude, Claire angled her eyes away from the towering evergreen forest and to the cockpit. Her memory had yet to regain a foothold in her conscience, a frustration beyond measure. "How can I even exist if I don't know who or what I am anymore?" she wondered sadly; she would give most anything to conjure up a even a brief moment of her previous life.

Her eyes wandered to the man sitting beside her, the person who had saved her from those horrid people, from an existence far worse than this. "Perhaps you should trust him." But something within crawled at the sight of his stern face and his sinister voice. He just seemed....odd, a characteristic she couldn't place a name to.

"We've entered restricted airspace," the pilot observed, tapping a few buttons on the control panel. "Do you have a security code?"

"AW19372," Wesker responded dryly, barely concerned. To him, the pilot's words were meaningless- restricted airspace or not, he wouldn't be told where he could and could not be. His entire life had consisted of obeying rules, following orders, bowing down to his superiors; it was his turn to create the laws.

"Sector C812" he replied, resting his feet leisurely on the crate before him. This girl was proving to get on his nerves; she was too much like Chris.

"Sir, the code was denied," the pilot explained through his headset.

Bastards. Umbrella had been quick in realizing he had stolen their precious subject, a much unusual coincidence. Wesker relished the idea of the company loathing him; it was the entire reason why he had left its crumbling structure for another. However, it was in his scheme to let Umbrella fall; if it did, he would be able to resurrect it to its former glory as its primary leader. "Continue on," he demanded. Umbrella would not win this game.

Realizing that he would yield no further information, Claire looked back out the aperture of the Helicopter, assaulted with a sudden barrage of flashbacks. Screaming, fire, sirens. Closing her eyes, she cradled her head. S.T.A.R.S. Chris. "I think I'm going to be sick," she mumbled. The sudden onslaught made no sense to her, but she stored them away nonetheless to contemplate later; they had to indicate her returning cognizance.

Rising from his seat, Wesker found another metallic briefcase, much like that of his laptop. A phantom of a smile covered his face as he observed her. "Here," he said, throwing it onto her lap.

"What's this?" she said, covering her mouth.

"Medicine." Returning to his comfortable seat, he wondered how long it would take for her to become frustrated. When he had been infected, the virus had made it physically impossible to avoid sudden emotions, but the power gained from such events had made him much stronger, as it would Claire.

"I'll show you medicine,"she thought, agitated. "I said I am sick," she reminded through gritted teeth. "Do not make me ask again." Wesker didn't respond. Perhaps he had ignored her or had no solution. Either way, Claire couldn't help the boiling anger rising to a nearly intolerable level. The metal case seemed quite light, and she felt it over for some sort of latch. "How do you open it?"

Still ignoring her, she couldn't stifle the voice in the back of her mind telling her to attack, to reprimand him for not obeying. "I'm sick of being polite goddamn it!" she yelled finally, heaving the case across the open expanse. Hitting the back of the co-pilot's seat, it cracked open with a thud.

"Well done," Wesker congratulated. "However, upon better inspection, you would have found a simple release mechanism on the side," he noted firmly. Stupid girl. She doesn't hold a desirable intelligence... but my how her physical capabilities have improved. Her anger pleased him, a trait suitable enough for what he needed her for.

Rushing for the case, she opened its battered side. Syringe. Pulling the needle from its housing, she peered at its liquid content before another fit of rage controlled her; she jammed the needle into her thigh, quivering at its beautiful pain. Her skin became clammy, the very life within her being pulled away as it coursed through her veins. "It's over now, Claire," the voice spoke clearly as the chopper jolted.

Wesker stepped over her and entered the cockpit. "Just give up."

The sudden whirlwind of the spinning aircraft threw her against its metal frame. "I'm losing altitude," she heard a frantic voice. "We're going down."

Even as she heard the men swearing loudly, it did not matter that she might die; she remembered her name and that was enough to save her the horror of death without a conscience. As the first propeller sliced into the treetops, she sighed with relief as the black void of death creapt over her eyes and she knew no more.

"It is 5:30. Time to wake up," the alarm clock's monotone voice blared, causing him to stir beneath the thin sheets. "It is-"

"Enough," Chris begged, hitting the snooze. He felt a jab of pain in his side as he rolled onto the Beretta holstered at his hip. Cursing, he pulled it from his side. He studied it for a few moments, his eyes landing on the same mark it always did- the S.T.A.R.S. emblem.

Since the incident at the mansion, the team had dissolved into a few stray members who sought refuge in new towns where Umbrella's agents would not find them. Their ambitions were in vain, realizing that after the City had been completely decimated, Umbrella had been hailed as a hero, a verdict Chris would never agree with. "If only they knew," he whispered, the last moments of his excursion in the Arklay woods still vivid in his mind. Wiping his tired eyes, he quickly dressed. Entering the kitchen, he was surprised to find Jill making a pot of coffee.

"I thought you'd be here," she said, leaning against the counter; a faint smile worked at her mouth beholding his messy hair. "Still looking for Claire?"

Nodding, Chris found an old chair. "She has to be alive, Jill. She's a strong-minded individual."

Jill nodded, taking a swig. "I don't doubt she is, based on the one time I met her."

Chris shook his head. "I wasn't here. She had no way to contact me even if she wanted to..."

Setting the cup aside, Jill crossed her arms. "It's not your fault, Chris. We weren't even here when the shit really hit the fan," she pointed out. She hated Chris when he became irrational in his thoughts. Sure Umbrella had thoroughly screwed with his personal life, but acting like this would solve nothing. "Just admit that you are not to blame."

Sighing, Chris had to agree; blaming himself would not help them find his sister. "Where do we start searching?" he then asked, hoping Jill had more information than he.

Studying his face, she cleared her throat. "An investigation on Irons has delivered some impressive finds," she replied, giving him several folders of documents pertaining to involvement with Umbrella.

"What does this prove?" he asked finally; Irons had been a backstabber, but he was dead now.

"It makes perfect sense Chris," Jill retorted. "He and Wesker knew of Umbrella's plans and being the mayor, he had access to everyone's records, including Claire's."

Cursing, Chris struck the table; everything had begun to fan out- Umbrella taking Claire would be an excellent leverage against him. "So Irons did this?" he inquired irritably.

She shook her head. "I think Wesker was behind the entire scheme; it seems too conveniant that he died in the mansion, don't you agree?"

He knew the truth in her words, for he had contemplated the possibility himself; what he couldn't work out was how he managed to escape before the explosives detonated. "Nothing is predictable with Umbrella and you know it," his mind scolded. "When I find that lying son of a-"

A faint rumble broke his train of thought; it couldn't have been a tremor because the house hadn't shook. It had happened too far away to understand its source. "What do you think that was?"

"Nothing good," Jill shrugged. "It was quite loud; sounded like it came from the woods."

Snickering, Chris stood. The forest was the last place he wished to visit. "Well, let's get this over with; no point in tarrying..."

Agreeing, she slung the pack onto her shoulder as they left the warm house to face the bitter reality of a new day, oblivious of the threat they were about to encounter.